Every End Is A New Beginning
by teenybirdy
Summary: I want this night to be a memory that lasts forever, after all, it will be the only thing I have left. It is the one thing she cannot take away from me.


"Andréa..."

The way she calls my name is something I can't get enough of, although I can't and won't ever tell her that. I can imagine the look in her eyes, the disappointment in the false belief I am just like the rest of the silly girls who worship the ground she walks on.

I was up most of last night working on a project for the twins, and this is part of my payback for having me do such things. It infuriates me that she won't put her foot down to make her kids to what they need to.

"Oh, Andréa..."

The intensity of the way she is calling my name is increasing and I know if I ease off slightly, she will not come just yet. It is one of the only ways I have to exert control over her.

The townhouse was pitch black when I arrived an hour ago, but I heard her voice, calling for me from what I am now able to recognise as her bedroom. I am always annoyed that it is like a Siren's call to me, that I move towards it without hesitation.

"FUCK! AN-DRÉY-AAAH! "

Oh yes, she is so close now. Her hands are flailing at her sides and she will likely set her glass of water flying before the night is over. Her eyes are closed and her hair clings to her forehead as she undulates beneath me.

I love being able to do this to her and although she does not yet know it, this will be the last time. My resignation is now sat on top of the book, with immediate effect.

It will be a new start for the new year. Without her.

I can't help but watch intently as her breasts move as her body rocks against me. Knowing this is the last time I will have this privilege is stopping me from just closing my eyes and sinking into the moment. I don't want to miss a damn thing. I want this night to be a memory that lasts forever, after all, it will be the only thing I have left. It is the one thing she cannot take away from me.

My free hand reaches out and I lay a hand on the silken skin of her throat. I can feel her pulse thrumming erratically under my fingertips.

At the touch, her eyelids flutter open and she just looks at me with those incredible blue eyes that haunt my every dream. I see the question in them. She wants to know if I am okay. I can read her thoughts. She knows this shouldn't be happening again, it should never have happened in the first place. She believes my feelings will get in the way of this thing between us, feelings she tells herself she does not return.

I must admit, deep in my thoughts I have lost some of the cadences of pleasure I had created within her but hopefully she believes it is from the burn in my wrist from fucking her so long and so thoroughly.

There is a furious blush rising across her chest and the sight of it has me finding my rhythm again as I thrust three fingers into her furiously. It is now imperative she climaxes as soon as possible, that way I can make my escape.

I never stay over.

I never climax while lying in her bed, usually waiting until I get back to my small apartment before fucking myself raw.

I look back up at her, perhaps for a little too long as her eyes fall closed again as if she can't bear to see me here between her thighs, although she continues to call my name.

"Mm, An-dréy-ah..."

I have always loved the way she says my name focusing on the last syllable in the French style. My name is far less harsh tumbling from her lips than from anyone else who has spoken it in my hearing. I hear my mom's voice calling to me in my mind and I lose focus again. "Ann-dree-uh." Ugh, the hatred of my name was why I insisted on becoming Andy.

I pull myself out of my reverie, realising I have stopped and that she is glancing down at me once again. This time, she bites her lip as if she wants to ask me to...

What does she want to ask?

She raises one of her immaculately maintained eyebrows at me but says nothing. Does she want me to stay, go, make her come or remove my fingers?

I realise I have no idea anymore.

I feel the sting of tears in the backs of my eyes but refuse to let them fall. I can remember Emily's words about her not wishing to see or hear the tears of her assistants. Why should I be any different?

Fuck, I need to get out of here, but I can't leave her just hanging on the cusp of her orgasm, that would be disappointing for her, and me. I love seeing her unravel.

Flexing my fingers, she shudders and a low moan tears from her throat.

I remember the first time I heard her moan in such a way, as she lay naked and wet for me in my Parisian hotel room, every inch of her perfect body on display.

It had started with her storming into my room, demanding I unpack, telling me I had to stay. Ignoring the woman wasn't easy, but then she grabbed my wrist as I was about to leave the room, pulling my suitcase behind me and ready to make my departure from Paris Fashion Week, I calmly told her to go fuck herself.

"Wait," she called. I heard the slight wavering of hesitation in her voice and stalled. "Will you fuck me?"

I turned back to look at her and found her stood, revealing herself to me as she unfastened the hidden zipper of the beautiful gown she wore. I was surprised, but also willing to give her my heart. I believed, given time, I could trust her to keep it safe.

She was light in my arms as I picked her up and laid her gently down on my bed. All I could think about was worshipping her, trailing my lips and tongue across her soft, smooth and warm skin, having her scream my name. But when I bent to kiss her, she turned her head away from me and her fingers curled into my hair, pushing me down her body.

I got the hint quickly enough.

I learned to cherish how different she was to me, a petite woman, her skin like porcelain. That night I learned to give her what she needed physically and yet she maintained an emotional distance.

I have not tried to kiss her again, not even tonight when her voice beckoned me into this room.

And now, all I want is to taste her on my tongue and as I slide her knees further apart to accommodate me, she sighs. She wants it to.

I dip my head to the apex of her thighs and stroke my tongue through the pooling wetness, circling her clit. She tastes hot and sweet and it is incredibly heady to have her pull me closer, wrapping her knees over my shoulders as her hands flutter through my thick hair.

"Yes..."

She moans loudly, rocking her hips against my tongue, slowly at first and then developing a matching the rhythm set by my tongue. My fingers still sit inside her, unmoving as they press against that spot that will send her careening over the edge.

She clenches around my digits pulling them deeper inside her and as I continue to sweep my tongue over her straining clit, I can feel her getting closer to cumming.

"OH...OH...OH...ANDY...FUCK, I'M CUM...FUCK! AHHHHH..."

She's tugging at my head as her pussy convulses around my fingers. I give her everything I have and start thrusting furiously again, pushing her towards another orgasm.

"FUCKMEFUCKMEFUCKME!"

The words roll into one another when she screams, her voice bouncing off the walls, her manicured fingers digging into my scalp.

I pump my fingers into her over and over, feeling her orgasm surrounding me. It's like she can't seem to get me deep enough for her liking as her legs tense, her back arcs and she let's out a keening wail.

"AN-DRÉY-AAAH!"

I give her time to get herself together before removing my fingers and settling beside her for a moment.

Once again, she has not taken the time to undress me, and she still wears the pale blue silk babydoll nightgown, although admittedly it lies above her hips where I pushed it up in my haste to give her what she needed.

I feel her eyes on me as I roll away and slide from the bed beside her. I arrange myself as best I can, swiping my fingers over my lips and chin where her essence remains. I can smell her on my fingers and find it intoxicating. I move to the ensuite bathroom on stockinged feet and take the time to wash up and decide on my next move.

Unable to stop myself, I walk back I to the bedroom, pick up the heels that I had kicked unceremoniously away when I found her lying against her pillows, her finger crooked as she gestured me close. I check the time and see it is two minutes until midnight.

I step towards her, unable to resist the sight of her, and her eyes hold their surprise. Bending, I brush the sweaty forelock away and place a light kiss on her forehead. My eyes close and I breathe in deeply, working to implant this memory into my mind entirely.

"Goodnight, Miranda," I whisper, pulling back and turning away so she doesn't see the tears that are close to falling. "Happy New Year." I do not look back before I leave, I can't allow myself to do so in case my resolve crumbles.

This will be a new beginning for me and things will change. There are infinite possibilities for my future, a future back in Ohio, without Miranda Priestly.

**TBC? Maybe, I'm marking as complete though.**

**NOTE: **I have had the idea in my head of a vocal Miranda, calling to Andy in various stages of intensity, and decided to write it out. This is what I came up with. It's not my usual happy/hopeful ending, but life doesn't always provide the happily ever after we hope for. Let me know what you think x


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